They’d escaped the revelry for a moment, climbing the dome of Bag End to smoke quietly under spreading boughs.
“How so Mister Frodo?”
“You’re 33 today. Full ‘growed’ your Gaffer might say.” Frodo grinned. “It’s a significant passage.”
Brow creased, Sam mulled the question over before answering. “Well…way I see it, ‘taint rightly the age a hobbit’s at what makes him ‘growed’ or not. There’s some I know ain’t come of age, but got more grasp of responsibility then ones as have.”
“I know what you mean.” Frodo agreed. More than you may realize.